Little did he know that he was pulling me out to the most
eventful and unfortunate day of my trip.
At Chao-t'ong I had bought a pony in case of emergency--one of those
sturdy little brutes that never grow tired, cost little to keep, and are
unexcelled for the amount of work they can get through every day in the
week. Its color was black, a smooth, glossy black--the proverbial dark
horse--and when dressed in its English saddle and bridle looked even
smart enough for the use of the distinguished traveler, who smiled the
smile of pleasant ownership as it was led on in front all day long,
seeming to return a satanic grin for my foolishness at not riding it.[U]
The first I saw of it was when it was standing full on its hind legs
pinning a man between the railings and a wall in a corner of the mission
premises. It looked well. Truly, it was a blood beast!
On the second day out, whilst walking merrily along in the early
morning, the little brute lifted its heels, lodged them most precisely
on to my right forearm with considerable force--more forceful than
affectionate--sending the stick which I carried thirty feet from me up
the cliffs. The limb ached, and I felt sick. My boy--he had been a
doctor's boy on one of the gunboats at Chung-king--thought it was
bruised.
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